Chapter Text
"The jury finds the defendant, [Name] [Surname], guilty on all counts; conspiracy to commit corporate fraud and aiding and abetting the criminal activities of Charles Choi.”
The words echo through the courtroom like a death knell.
You don't lift your head. Your eyes stay fixed on the bruises blooming along your wrists, skin rubbed raw beneath cold steel cuffs. The judge's voice is distant—too clinical, too indifferent—as if your entire life amounts to nothing more than a line item on his docket. Stupid fucker, you sneer, his prejudice as ugly as his shallow yet true words. Well, only true to a certain extent. Charles Choi was your boss, your supposed-to-be ally; but, in the end, he is the cause of this. Of all of this. And for that, he's a stupid fucker too. Fuck all these old bastards.
Your wrists throb and ache, a stinging-burn sensation swelling beneath the skin as early signs of inflammation begin to surface. Itch. Itch. Itch. Your fingernails linger with the remains of epidermis. It hurts. It hurts, but anything to take your mind off what's happening,
How did it come to this?
Why are you the one paying the price while Charles Choi—coward that he is—chose the easy way out? Death. No prison cells. No cold iron biting into his skin. Just an escape you'll never be afforded.
You've always led a simple life, following the thrill of enjoyment, ignoring the dangers of battle. A teenager, barely an adult, really. Still in high school, never caring too much to keep your grades up. You knew working for HNH wouldn't last forever, but to think it'd end like this is just crazy. Now you're destined for shits, living without money when, no, if, you ever leave this place. No career, no family. And Goo, ever-so lucky gets to be on his happy way too. At least Gun is rotting away in hell with you. You curse that blonde idiot for not being caught, for not being dragged down to hell with you. You'd rather go down together, than go down alone.
Selfish? That you are, but it's what Goo has always liked about you. Your shitty, good-for-nothing boyfriend. Fuck him, too. If he ever really loved you, he'd willingly turn himself in.
You're not an amazing person, but you've never orchestrated anything bad. You... just wanted to have fun.
It isn't fair.
Not fair.
Not fair...
Not fair.
"[Name]!"
Crystal's voice trembles, cutting through the suffocating weight of the courtroom. She clings to the wooden railing separating the gallery from the rest of the room, knuckles pale with the force of her grip. Her black, long hair falls loose around her face, disheveled—so unlike her usual ladylike composure. Brushing her hair back is a crescent-shaped clip, one you recognise as having gifted her for her fifteenth birthday. You know she's had her ups and down with her father, but you're sure his death had affected her to some extent too. Now you're going to be locked up for all of eternity too, and Gun, who she sees as her friend (brother almost, though she'd never willingly admit), will face such fate alongside you. Poor Crystal. All the money in the world couldn't buy her what she's always wanted. But it's the tears brimming in her eyes that strike the deepest.
Tears for you.
You hate them.
Your gaze meets hers, and something in you fractures. She's the daughter of the man you despise most, but she's also your best friend. Your only friend. Your soulmate. And she's watching you be swallowed whole by a system you never stood a chance against. The evidence is uncanny, and a lawyer of your own couldn't counter it no matter.
Still, you don't speak. There's nothing left to say.
Your ears would twitch every once in a while during the hearing.
"Objection, your honour! The statement is irrelevant to the charges being discussed. This has no relevance to Ms [Surname] and is only relevant to the accounts against Charles Choi."
"Objection overruled. The statement stands. Continue with your argument.”
Not once was a statement sustained to credit you. It's funny. No mention of all the good you'd done either, not the fact you'd funded orphanages, nor that you'd donated to organisations to help children in need. You aren't a stone cold bitch; you have a heart, too. You didn't ever care about spending money on luxuries like Goo or Gun. Speaking of...
In the farthest corner of the courtroom, half-shrouded in shadow, you spot a man. His face is obscured beneath the brim of a cheap beige hat, but you know who he is. Goo Kim. Shitty bastard, you curse him time and time again. You'd recognise the ugly watch sporting his wrist any day and anytime. However, it just so happens this very day and time are ones in which you dread having to see him on.
Your eyes roll, almost on instinct.
Of course, he's here. He wouldn't miss a show like this. You can already picture the smirk tugging at his lips—probably laughed himself sick when Gun was sentenced, too.
(If you looked a little closer, you might've seen the truth. The tension in his jaw. The way his fists curl tight at his sides. There's no laughter bubbling up in his throat, just the pain lingering in his expression. But you don't look closer. You never do.)
"The defendant will rise for sentencing," the judge instructs.
"Fuck you," you mutter. No one cares to tell you off; you're already a criminal preparing to face charges and a sentence that can't be added to for a minor offence as that. You wouldn't put it past this corrupt justice system to try and do otherwise. Not that you care. You're already going to be imprisoned for at least a decade of your life, you surmise.
(And your glare darts to Goo. He'll definitely move on in that time. Probably going to get married and have kids too. Oh, gosh. You hope to haunt his every dream, if that happens. How dare he leave you?!).
You push yourself to your feet, joints aching from hours spent shackled in place. You know what's coming. The prosecution argued for the maximum penalty. Charles is beyond the law now. Gun—well, no one's willing to speak about him. That leaves you. The perfect scapegoat.
"[Name] [Surname], this court hereby sentences you to ten years in federal prison without the possibility of parole." The judge's tone doesn't waver—not once. No mercy. No humanity. "May justice be served."
Justice.
What a joke.
True justice would be grabbing that asshole Charles' body and reviving him, forcing him to serve the sentence you're instead being prosecuted under.
You barely register the bailiff stepping toward you until cold fingers wrap around your arm, dragging you toward the exit. Crystal's voice breaks—pleading now, wild with desperation.
"No, wait! Please, she's innocent! [Name]!"
Stupid Crystal. Naive Crystal. You send a bitter close-eyed smile her way, hoping she gets the silent message. Don't visit me in jail. You're not sure you could keep yourself from doing something stupid if she did.
You don't turn around. You can't.
Because if you do, you'll break. And you'll sob and sob until your eyes dry of tears and your voice croaks without sound.
As the heavy doors slam shut behind you, sealing you off from the world you once knew, only one thought burns in your mind; it's hot and violent and bitter enough to consume everything else.
If only I had known... If I had another chance... Fuck. Fuck it—fuck them all.
The hallway beyond the courtroom is cold, too cold. It reminds you of the past you wished to never revisit, of old stories you'd retell. Sterile white walls stretch endlessly ahead, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above you. No place for the wicked. No grace for the fallen. Each step echoes, heavy and final, as the bailiff leads you forward. This is it. You'll never stay up late binging stupid animations with Goo, never fail miserably at baking cakes with Gun, never bully James for his shitty singing skills, never tease Crystal again. The weight of the sentence settles on your chest, squeezing tighter with every breath.
Ten years.
A decade of your life... stolen.
And for what? For Charles Choi's sins? For a crime you never wanted to be a part of? That bastard built an empire of blood and lies, and now you're the one paying the price while he rots six feet under. Coward. He didn't even have the decency to face the consequences. No, he left you and Gun to carry the burden—left Crystal to clean up the mess he made—left his stupid dog, James, behind as well (who you do love and care for, curse him as he is).
Oh, Gun.
Your throat tightens, eyes stinging.
You haven't seen him since the sentencing. They hauled him out in cuffs before you could even catch his eye. You don't know where he is. You don't know if he's still resigned himself up to his shitty fate. And as much as you want to hate him for dragging you into this hell, a part of you can't stop wondering about whether that last look the two of you shared, was it regret?
The bailiff's grip on your arm tightens as you slow your steps. "Keep moving," he mutters.
Like you're an animal. Like you're nothing.
"I am moving," you retort, scowling.
A sudden flare of anger burns in your chest, hot and blistering. You think about all the faces sitting in that courtroom, judging you. Condemning you. None of them know the truth. None of them care. You were a pawn to Charles Choi, and now you're a pawn to the justice system.
No one's coming to save you.
Not Crystal. Not Gun. Not Goo. No one. Who else did you have? Jake Kim, who you weren't on the worst terms with. After all, it wasn't you who necessarily ruined Big Deal, and you did send funds to the girls every now and then as a means of apology. Then, Eugene, who claimed to care for you, clearly, he doesn't, so fuck him too. Samuel Seo, who you grew to have a fun bond with, mostly involving you bullying his terribly fitting shirts and him telling you to suck his—
Yeah. He's fun. And you thank Goo for that opportunity.
Whatever. Men all suck. Discarded by those you trust and love, even those you believed to have cared for you would turn their backs on you if given the chance.
You reach the processing room, where more officers wait, their gloved hands ready to strip you of the little dignity you have left. Your heart pounds in your ears as they pat you down, their touch stirring discomfort deep within you. Every piece of your identity is taken from you; your torn to shreds clothes, your prized belongings, even the delicate silver bracelet Crystal once gave you as a token of her appreciation for your company.
"You can't take that," you snap, attempting to grab it back. That's the one thing you want to keep. How is it even legal to take that from you?! It's a personal belonging.
The officer doesn't spare you a glance as he slips the bracelet into a plastic bag. "You'll get it back when you're released."
If you ever make it that far. Shit.
When they hand you the prison uniform, you feel something inside you crack. It's a faint grey, the colour you've never once worn nor embraced before. It's odd. Strangely dehumanising, and it makes you wonder if this is what a dystopian society would be like. You always thought you were strong enough to survive anything. But this? This is something else entirely. The last bits of fight you have all been broken down in a matter of seconds.
You change in silence, the weight of your fate pressing down on your shoulders. When you emerge, they cuff your wrists again, as if you're some violent criminal who might lash out at any moment. You should lash out. You should scream. But you don't.
Instead, you let them lead you through another long corridor, toward the transport van waiting to take you to whatever prison they've decided to bury you in. The air outside is sharp against your skin, but it does nothing to clear the fog of rage clouding your thoughts.
The back doors of the van creak open, revealing a cold, empty metal cage. Are you an animal? It feels like you're being taken from your home, being transferred into a shitty zoo. The final nail in the coffin. The second you don the grey uniform, you're no longer human to them.
As you step inside, you hear Crystal's screams, her voice begging, pleading. Stop. Don't. Please. It tears your heart into two. You don't want her to see you like this. It's for the better.
"Please, let me talk to her!" she exclaims, lips quivering.
Your head snaps around just in time to see her breaking through the line of officers, her face pale and tear-streaked. She doesn't care about decorum. Doesn't care about the consequences. She's reaching for you, eyes wide with panic.
"[Name]!"
The doors slam shut before you can answer.
You close your eyes, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. You don't want her to ever see you like this—weak, caged, defeated. She's so used to seeing the strong, hot-headed bitch you usually show yourself to be.
If you cry now, you'll never stop.
The engine rumbles to life beneath you, and the van lurches forward, carrying you toward a future you never asked for. But as the city fades behind you, only one thought pulses through your mind.
If I get out of here... if I ever get another chance...
They'll all pay.
The ride to the detention center is long. Too long. The hum of the engine vibrates beneath your feet, but your mind is louder—spinning with everything that's happened. Every betrayal. Every lie. Every damn time you've been used by people who saw you as nothing more than a tool.
Charles Choi is dead, but his shadow still lingers. All you can think about is how you wish to kill him. To have him plead for mercy.
You press your cuffed hands against your knees, fingers curling into fists. Gun. Crystal. Goo. Their faces blur together, tangled in the mess Charles left behind. You don't know if you hate them or if you hate yourself more for caring about them. Maybe both.
A sharp turn jerks you against the cold metal walls. Through the small, grated window, you catch glimpses of the world outside—people living their lives, free. You wonder if they know how fragile their freedom is. If they realize that one wrong step, one mistake, is enough to tear everything away.
When the van finally stops, it's abrupt, no warning to grace you. Your heart pounds harder as the doors swing open, revealing the towering gates of the Seoul Women's Penitentiary.
Welcome to hell.
It becomes crystal clear.
The guards waste no time pulling you out. The air is cold against your skin as you stumble onto the asphalt. Razor wire coils along the top of the fences, slicing against the sky like jagged teeth. Beyond it, grey concrete walls loom.
But you're strong. Right?
You swallow hard. No one gets out of here unchanged. If you ever get out at all.
They march you through the gates, past rows of watchful eyes. Prisoners line the yard, some lounging against the walls, others sizing you up like you're fresh meat. You hold your head high, refusing to show weakness.
The last thing you need is to look like prey.
Inside, the intake process is cold, no sympathy; fingerprints, photographs, paperwork you don't care to read. They don't treat you like a person here. Just another number in the system.
"Inmate 47623," the guard calls, and it takes you a moment to realize they mean you. "Let's go."
They lead you to your cell—small, cramped, and reeking of bleach and rust. The steel door slams shut behind you with a chilling finality. You're alone now. No Crystal. No Goo. No Gun. No one. It's weird that you begin to miss Goo's torturous whines and pleads for you to join him in bed, to watch the newest episode of One Piece and Naruto Shippuden.
("[Name], you're kind of like Sakura, you know?" Goo jokes, nudging you using his elbow, his head laying on your lap.
You blink, running your fingers through his hair. "Really? Then you're Naruto, aren't you?"
Gun deadpans at the stupidity of the conversation.
Goo pouts. "I guess, but I'd rather be Sasuke so I can get the girl." He winks at you, lips moving up mischievously. Your cheeks flush faintly, as you huff.
"No way. Gun is a lot more Sasuke than you in terms of persona," you retort, waving a dismissive hand.
"Leave me out of this," Gun mutters, done with the both of you.
You miss those days).
Your legs finally give out beneath you, and you sink onto the thin, worn mattress. The silence is unbearable. There's no one left to hear your side of the story. No one who cares that you were nothing more than a pawn in Charles Choi's twisted game.
You tilt your head back, breathing in the stale air.
If I had known... if I had been smarter...
Your fingers twitch against your knees. There's no use in regrets now. The world doesn't care if you're innocent. No one's going to save you.
If you want out, you'll have to do it yourself.
And if you survive this place, if you ever walk out of these walls, you swear you'll burn everything Charles Choi left behind to the ground.
No one will ever use you again.
The days in the prison blend together into a monotonous haze. Every morning is the same; the cold, hard clang of metal doors, the harsh commands of the guards, the endless silence that stretches between meals, work assignments, and the rare moments of interaction. Your body has learned to survive on autopilot, pushing through each day like a ghost. Goo's tried visiting more times than you can count, but you've rejected his visitations every time. That bastard would probably laugh and point. You don't want to deal with that. And Crystal would sob and blame herself. You don't want to deal with that either.
You have no feelings, no expectations, no hope.
But that's the problem, isn't it?
You've lost it all; hope, that is. Hope that someone will come to actually free you. Hope that anyone will believe in your innocence. Hope that you'll ever get out. You don't want shallow words and stupid lies. You've lost your will to fight. And that's why it's easy when the blade appears in the shadows of your cell.
It's small, sharp, the glint of metal almost beautiful against the darkness of the room. A piece of contraband, slipped under the door, or perhaps left by some misguided soul who didn't know how dangerous the gift truly was.
You're not sure what makes you reach for it. Maybe it's the desperation for control, or maybe it's the need to feel something, anything other than the empty void inside you. It's been days—weeks, maybe—since you've felt anything but this weight on your chest, this suffocating grief. Everything is blurred, faded, a dream you can't wake from. And now, here it is: a way out. A final escape.
You press the blade against your skin, your hand trembling. It's just a moment of relief. A moment to stop feeling the crushing weight of everything. A moment where the pain would go away.
Just one small cut, you think, barely able to breathe. One small cut, and everything ends.
The sharp sting of the blade cutting into your wrist is a familiar kind of pain, different from the emotional bruises you've carried. It's almost soothing. Almost.
But as the blood starts to trickle, the tears begin to fall. You've never been good at showing weakness, but now you can't stop the sobs. You don't want to die, but you can't stand this anymore. This existence that feels like a punishment, the weight of the past and the future crushing your chest.
You close your eyes, hoping for an end. A peaceful, sweet end.
But then—
Nothing.
The world goes black.
Fuck this shitty world.
The soft murmur of voices reaches you first. Groggy, distant, like you're waking from a long, heavy sleep. Your head is spinning, your body unresponsive. The familiar coldness of the cell is gone, replaced by warmth. A warmth you haven't felt in a long time.
You slowly open your eyes. The world is blurry at first, but shapes begin to solidify. Figures hover over you, and you blink a few times, trying to focus.
And then, you see him.
Your heart leaps in your chest as you focus on the face before you. Gun. The same intense eyes, the same protective scowl, the same dangerous aura. But this time, it feels different. There's something weirdly fond in his gaze. Has he always looked at you that way? And, how come you've never realised?
And then, you realise, he's holding your hand.
Tears blur your vision, as have they become a familiar companion in your lonely nights locked away, but this time, they're different. They're not from pain, not from the hopelessness you've lived with. It hurts. Hurts so much. The droplets fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, heavy, their weight full of disbelief. You want to scream. You want to ask how, why, what the hell is happening.
But all you can do is whisper.
"Gun?"
He blinks, surprised by the tremor in your voice. "Huh?" He looks to Goo, who's sitting next to him, an equally confused look on his face.
Goo frowns, eyes darting between you and Gun. "What's up with that? Had a bad dream, you idiot?"
The sight of his face urges you to punch him, to chuck him into the ground and throw a tantrum at the fact he left you alone for so long. But you can't. You can't stop crying. It keeps going on and on. You're not sure why; and shit, it's embarrassing.
"Shut up, Goo," Gun growls, though there's no real heat behind it. He's staring at you, his brows furrowing. "What's wrong with you, [Name]?" he asks bluntly, unsure.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You should've expected it, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. This isn't right. This isn't possible.
You open your mouth to speak but can't. The words get stuck in your throat, and all you can do is pull yourself into him. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding onto him as if your life depends on it. And in a way, it does.
Gun stiffens beneath your touch, his body going rigid. You can feel his discomfort, but you don't care. This is all too much. Too much to process. Too much to accept.
"I—I don't understand," you sob, your voice cracking. "This can't be real... it can't be..."
Gun hesitates, then awkwardly pats your head, the motion stiff and awkward. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tears as if it's the most natural thing in the world. But it isn't. It never was. You've never shown him such love in the past, you realise, but you've always cared for him, for your teammate.
You can't stop yourself. You're shaking, gasping for air, and everything feels like it's crashing down around you. This—this feeling—this warmth—it's all a dream. It has to be.
"Gun," you whisper again, almost afraid to say it aloud, as if you'll wake up from this moment and find yourself back in that cold cell, alone again. "Gun, why... why is this happening? Why am I here? Why are you here?"
Gun glances at Goo, who just shrugs. Both of them are totally confused. They've never seen you act so... vulnerable. It's almost like you've been replaced.
"[Name], what's going on?" Goo says, poking your forehead. "You never act like this. You're always so... you know..." He gestures vaguely, eyes wide. "Hot-headed. Ready to throw fists. What's with the tears?"
You pull back from Gun's embrace, cheeks burning with shame. He's right. You've never been this weak, this... vulnerable around them. Never let them see you like this. And you kind of regret it.
Gun's lips twitch, his usual expression softening just slightly. "Yeah, what's up with you?" he asks, tilting his head. Stoic Gun. Stupid Gun. You love him so much, you want to squeeze the shit out of him and ask why he'd been so stubborn in the past. Why he didn't just join Goo.
A small part of you wants to scream, to demand answers, to make sense of this impossible situation. But another part of you is just... so glad they're here. That they're alive. That this world, for all its madness, still has them.
But wait... you think, your heart sinking. If they're here... if they're together... does that mean we're still working for Charles Choi?
Even in this shitty place, you're still working for that bastard?! This dream sucks.
No, no, no. You can't go back to that. You can't go back to that hell. But as you look into their eyes—Goo, Gun—there's a chilling realisation settling in your gut.
This isn't the future. This isn't even your past.
This is a timeline you don't remember—one where everything is still in motion, still in chaos, still under Charles's thumb.
And you? You're still caught in the middle.
Your chest tightens as you break down once again. The pain is too much to bear, the weight of what's to come. This isn't a second chance. This is a sick joke. A nightmare you can't escape.
What the hell is going on?
—
Honestly, if Lookism has two bodies and weird super Saiayn level strength, then why can't a character time travel too? lol.
Also just to clarify, in past timeline, Goo and [Name] were in a relationship. This romantic relationship happened once Goo asked her out after leaving HNH, as in after he asked Gun to leave HNH with him. In this timeline though, Goo and [Name] won't have this relationship. Instead, if anything, she'd focus on trying to prevent Gun from ending up in jail like her.